A tale of two ships
by LollipopTurtle
Summary: America and England have been getting on each other's nerves lately, and England seems to be in the center of it all. Welcome to the age old feud between UsUk and FrUk. In a battle of love, who will come out victorious?


**Authors note: This will be a series of one shots for our FrUk and UsUk fans out there. Personally, I used to favor FrUk because I've got this thing about incest. But multiple arguments and the fanfic "We'll meet again" by** ** _George Devalier_** **brought me to my senses. I now love them both like my own children. By the way, read that story. If you don't like UsUk then just think of it as a totally different story with characters that just happen to strongly resemble those from Hetalia. That's how I can easily enjoy certain fanfics with ships I don't normally like. If it has a genuinely good storyline, read it. Except Russame. I'm sorry. I just can't do it. Any ships that don't have Russia and China together are a nono. I can tolerate China with someone else, but Russia has one love. With that mess out of the way, let's begin.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own these gloriously gay characters.**

 **Warning: Slight amount of cussing. I mean, England is sort of the equivalent of Romano, isn't he? Sort of…**

 **P.S- I share the popular head canon that countries call each other by their human names in public. So Alfred= 'Murica, Arthur= England, and Francis= Francy-pants. (A.K.A Frog)**

"O-oi! Pass me another drink! " A blond man slurred as he slumped unsteadily against the table. Another blond to his left, having glasses and a cowlick, shook his head.

"Dude, you're done for the night. Let me drive you home." He said, a fond smile crossing over his face. When the brit was smashed, he was kind of cute. Though that could have been the alcohol talking, because when England was wasted he was sure to get drunk too.

On the British man right, there was yet another blond. This one had glossy blond hair held back by a blue ribbon that matched his eyes. A few bangs fell across his face as he patted England on his back. "No Alfred, don't worry. I'll take the _rosbif_ back home."

America's smile became slightly forced as he tugged the poor Englishman towards him. The drunk was already off balance, I can't imagine what he was thinking being dragged back and forth. Actually, I can. Something along the lines of Moby Dick and the sea captain fighting. But he was a bit nonsensical, so this omnipresent narrator didn't understand what he was getting at.

"Nah man, It's fine. I'll just take him home. Can't leave _you_ alone with him after all."

"And what is that supposed to mean, may I ask?" France asked, an eyebrow twitching ever so slightly. His grip on the central blond's shirt grew perceptibly tighter.

"Ahh, nothing. It's just, you didn't really specify which home he's going to, and I know for a fact he doesn't want to sleep in your bed." Replied the american, his glasses gleaming in the light.

"I don't believe that love should be forced on anyone, so I don't believe I know what you're implying. I will take Arthur to his own home." He said through gritted teeth. Alfred stood up suddenly, causing the Brit to flop over slightly. France apparently didn't notice either, because he suddenly let go of the much argued over blond, confronting the other blue eyed blond. Neither noticed as their true love slowly fell off his seat and onto the ground, already completely conked out. He lay, bum in the air and face on the ground, snoring slightly as the two countries faced off.

"Why's it so important for you to bring Iggy home, huh?"

"What about you, Alfred? You aren't, by any chance, in love with him?"

America stepped back slightly, red in the face. "Of course not! He's like a brother to me!"

"Then you won't mind if I take him home."

"Of course I would! Bro's look out for each other! That's like, the thirty-fourth amendment on my constitution. You see, it's a law. Take that!"

A figure with glowing emerald eyes suddenly loomed before them, a frightening aura rolling off him. Both stopped and stared, frightened and in awe of this being. The petrifying demon wobbled slightly before hooking his arms over both of their shoulders, pulling them close in a sudden mood swing. Wow, someone must have slipped him something in his drink. Even the most wasted England wouldn't voluntarily "hug" both of them at the same time.

"Ladies, ladies! There's more than enough of me to go around." he garbled. The blonds on either side of him looked slightly affronted before snickering, then glaring at each other again. Sighing, the Frenchman slipped his phone out of his pocket.

"I'll call a cab and we'll all go home together." He said as way of compromise. Alfred shouldered the Brit's weight slightly, the once friendly arms now a deadweight as he dangled from their shoulders, limp.

"Okay, but your paying. Got that?"

About ten minutes later a cab arrived, a dark knight on shining armor. France climbed in first and they squished the sleeping man between them. The long-haired blond clucked his tongue at the stench of tobacco in the vehicle, but made no comment. And thus the carriage holding the fair maiden and his handsome suitors was off.

Alfred held Arthur in a bridal carry as France checked under a nearby pot for the key. There really was no need for them to drag Arthur around when he could easily carry the man, and the other had reluctantly agreed after a little strong arming on Alfred's behalf. As he quietly opened the door Alfred barreled in, eager to be the one to kiss Arthur good-night. Figuratively, of course. He wasn't in love with this hot headed, humongous- eyebrowed, perfect individual. Pshaw, of course not! Carefully tucking the smaller man into his cream colored bed with a grin, he tucked back a lock of the man's hair. The other side of the bed suddenly dipped down, much to Alfred's surprise, and a ponytailed man gave Arthur a small peck on the forehead. Standing up, he smiled.

"I'm going to go make _sourcils_ some of my famous hangover cures. You're welcome to see yourself out." Said France, glowing with satisfaction. America scowled.

"No chance. I came here to make sure England wasn't alone with you. I'm not about to leave." He sneered. It was like watching a catfight. One second they were loving and happy, the next they were hissing with claws extended. But love does strange things to a person.

France frowned and grabbed America's arm, dragging him out of England's tidy bedroom before closing the door. None of them bothered to look at the clock, which said it was two in the morning and have absolutely no reason to stay up besides a stand off of macho-ness you freaking retards. France practically sprinted to the kitchen, reaching the door and slamming it in the other blond's face. Really now, that was just petty.

Humming as he whipped together some eggs and vegetables, he didn't hear the car outside. A few minutes later Alfred had sprinted back in with a McDonalds* in hand. Greasy foods are a great cure for hangovers. Setting it on the kitchen table, he grabbed a blanket from a nearby closet before collapsing on the couch to watch Netflix. France emerged from the kitchen, bags under his eyes. He had witnessed the terrifying scene of England's cooking experiment's in the fridge. That was enough to age even an immortal. He plopped down on the chair next to Alfred's and unceremoniously grabbed the younger's blanket from him. With a whispered shout, (No one wanted to wake up Artie) Alfred snatched the blanket back. The tug-o'-war started, more deadly then ever.

-10:00 am-

England awoke to a pounding headache as the bright daylight streamed in. Groaning, he huddled under his blanket. Couldn't God just decide to let the sun _not_ rise for a day. Just one day? After the sufficient amount of mourning for his poor state of health, he flopped out of bed. Dragging the blanket behind him like some sort of cape, he was met with the two of his 'favorite' blonds sleeping on his couch. Oh, how cute.

France and Alfred lay curled up against each other, the blanket shared between them. They looked so tuckered out and innocent. Well, as innocent as a bloody frog and wanker could look together. Smiling, he grabbed a pair of bright orange ear plugs and stuck them in, Fishing around in one of the wooden cabinets behind him, he with drew an item of special importance. They were going to love this surprise. Leaning forward, he patted each of their tanned cheeks.

"Wakey-wakey." He whispered lovingly. Neither stirred. Bringing the surprise item in front of him, he pressed down on the bright red airhorn. A sound that could only be described as the dying scream of a goat tore across the house.

"I SAID WAKE UP YOU TOSSERS!"

 **Authors note: How did I do? I don't think I got possessive! America and possessive!France quite right. Some pointers would be nice. (Hint hint: REVIEW) So, I hope y'all like this. Umm, that's all. Thanks for checkin' this out! Please review!**

 *** - It's actually canon that England likes McDonalds. Apparently because he has no sense of taste or something, but I, for one, think It's great.**

 **May lollipops fall from the sky and all turtles fly,**

 **LollipopTurtle**


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